Troll
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Tim finds himself being berated and bullied by a new NCIS employee and he can't figure out why.
1. Chapter 1

_No one cares about you._

_They don't like you._

_You're worthless._

_You're stupid._

_Why do you think they always leave you behind?_

_God, it must suck to be you._

The words were stuck in his mind as he tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep. He could hear her voice, taunting him, provoking him, pushing him toward his breaking point. When he closed his eyes, he saw her standing there, arms crossed, eyes gleaning with malice, and lips twisted into a sick smirk. She loved to watch him squirm, see his resolve break. It's almost as though she took some sort of perverse pleasure in it. How she had ever managed to get a job at NCIS was beyond him. A mind like that should never pass the psych evaluation.

He knew he shouldn't let it get to him, but it was hard. The first few diatribes had been a minor annoyance. The next ones had been hurtful. The ones she'd been slinging lately had stuck, making him suddenly doubt himself. After all these years he still had his self-confidence issues, but he had mostly gotten past it.

Then he had met Greta. She made him doubt himself in ways he'd never thought possible. She made him feel stupid. She made him feel insignificant. She made him feel…so small, like scum beneath her shoe that she wanted to pick off and toss away.

Even if he tried to avoid her—and he did—she managed to find him, as though she was seeking him out specifically to torment him. But that didn't make sense. How could a person waste so much time looking for someone just to torment them? Tim certainly didn't have enough free time in his life to spend it around someone he didn't like.

If it had been a general dourness he would have understood better; but it wasn't. When anyone else was around, she transformed into the sweetest woman you could ever meet. She joked with the others, complimented them, even flirted with some of them. But if he caught her alone, her lips would curl into a snarl and she would throw insult after insult, making sure he understood just how much she despised him.

And why? What had he ever done to her? He wasn't perfect, certainly, but he wasn't mean-spirited. If he had somehow offended her, he's happily apologize, but she didn't mention any slights. It was just hate for the sake of hate.

He turned and looked at the clock. 4:03. It was late…or early, depending on how you looked at it. No point in trying to sleep anymore. May as well get some coffee in him. He would need it.

He slipped from his bed and exited his bedroom. He padded past Jethro, who gave only a cursory glance before returning to his canine sleep.

With coffee in hand, he fell into his chair, placing the mug beside his typewriter. Maybe his lack of sleep would lead to something of use. But as he sat there, fingers posed atop the keys, his mind was blank. No, not quite blank, actually, but filled with thoughts and ideas that he would rather not put to paper.

With an hour past, his coffee cold, and no other inspiration coming, he sighed heavily and began typing.

_Worthless_. _Stupid_. _Me_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>This story is being written in response to an anonymous reviewer who goes by the name of "Greta" (among other names, I'm sure) and who has made it her mission to bash any story in which Tim McGee is featured in a positive light. This is my "saulte" to her ;)


	2. Chapter 2

_Four Months Earlier_

"Smooth move, McKlutz."

"I said I was sorry, Tony. Besides, you're the one who ran into me."

"Yeah, well I didn't know you were going to spill your coffee."

Tony was at his desk, desperately dabbing at the dark stain on his otherwise white shirt. The water didn't seem to be doing much to clear up the brown splotches. Tim stood nearby, feeling a mixture of guilt and anger. After all, Tony had been the one who caused the accident, though, this knowledge didn't make him feel any less responsible..

"Do you know how much this shirt cost me?" Tony muttered.

"Perhaps you should not wear such expensive clothing to work," Ziva suggested in a sarcastically saccharine tone. She gave Tim a supportive smile, hoping he wasn't beating himself up over this.

Tim knew Tony's anger wasn't really directed at him, that it was just his way of venting his frustration over the situation. In a few minutes he'd grab a Nutter Butter from the vending machine and toss it onto Tim's desk as a silent peace offering. But for now he was going to glare and mutter, fuming over his ruined shirt.

"Maybe I could pay for the cleaning?" Tim said, hoping to speed along the reconciliation.

His words had the desired effect, he saw, as Tony's anger slowly ebbed. "Don't worry about it, Probie," he said, giving his shirt one last dab, "it'll probably come out."

"Never liked that shirt anyway, DiNozzo."

Gibbs had just arrived in the bullpen, but he wasn't alone. Vance was with him, along with an unfamiliar woman. She was young and quite attractive, making both Tony and Tim sit up with interest.

"I just wanted to take a moment to introduce you to Miss Greta Hirsch, our newest addition to MTAC. She's just graduated from Harvard and decided NCIS was the best position for her."

Tony extended a hand first. "I'm Tony DiNozzo."

She took his hand shyly and shook it. "Hi, it's very nice to meet you. I'm just honored to be here; it's almost unreal."

"Well, I'm glad we caught you before the FBI got their claws into you." The look he gave her made it clear he would love to sink his own claws into her sometime.

Greta laughed. "Oh, no worry about that, Tony. I wouldn't have wanted to work anywhere else. My father was in the Navy, so I feel like I've got a strong connection with NCIS."

Tim grinned and followed suit. "I'm Tim McGee," he said, also extending a hand. "My dad was in the Navy too. He still is, in fact."

But Greta didn't shake his hand as she had Tony's; rather, she regarded it as something insignificant. "That's nice," she said, not even bothering to meet his eyes. Instead, her attention turned back to Tony, more specifically to the stain on his shirt.

"What happened?" she asked with so much worry one might think his shirt was stained with blood rather than coffee.

"Oh, just a run in with McGee," Tony said, waving it off. "'We're always on the move here."

Greta raised her eyebrows and looked toward Tim. Her lips twitched into a small smirk. "Well, remind me never to be around you with hot liquids."

To everyone else the comment sounded like playful teasing, the same kind that they all enjoyed with one another. But for Tim there was something more there, something not quite so playful. Whereas he knew Tony's and Ziva's comments were made in jest, he had the feeling Greta's had been made with the express purpose of hurting and embarrassing him.

Still, as no one else seemed to have taken offense to the comment, Tim didn't see the point in making a scene over something so miniscule. After all, he'd had worse slung at him; why should this be the straw to break the camel's back?

He gave a weak smile in return. "Well, I'm usually a little more graceful than that."

Greta gave a skeptical, "Hmm," as her eyes narrowed in a way that made Tim feel like an organism being studied beneath a microscope.

Vance stepped forward, placing a hand on Greta's shoulder. "Now that you've just about met everyone you'll be working with, let me show you around the rest of the building."

In a snap, Greta reverted back to the bright, smiling woman she had been moments earlier. "That would be wonderful, Director. Thank you. I look forward to working with all of you," she said, looking in turn at Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs. When her eyes met Tim's he felt certain that she didn't count him among the others, that she didn't look forward to even being in the same room as him.

As she walked off with Vance, Tim let his eyes follow. Something told him they weren't likely to be good friends.

* * *

><p>"What do you think of that Greta woman?"<p>

It was a question Tim had been contemplating all day, and he finally found the time to ask it when he, Tony, and Ziva were driving to Takoma Park to interview the ex-wife of a dead Marine.

"She seems nice," Ziva said. "Why? Do you have a crush on her, McGee?"

The response had him biting back a sarcastic laugh. A crush? Far from it. "No, not really."

"Seriously?" Tony said from behind the wheel. "I can't think of a heterosexual man who wouldn't want to take her home. Unless this is your way of coming out, Probie," he said, catching Tim's eyes in the rearview mirror, "methinks you doth protest too much."

"I mean it, Tony; I'm not interested in her."

"You don't have to pretend, McGee. I get that you know you wouldn't stand a chance with her; but your secret is safe with us."

Frustration was welling up in Tim. "Tony, I am telling you I don't like her!"

Ziva turned around in the front passenger seat to look at him. "Why would you not like her, McGee?"

When faced with the question, Tim found that he couldn't articulate much of a reason. "I don't know…just one of those things, you know? Something about her just rubs me the wrong way."

"I wouldn't mind her rubbing me any way she wants."

Tim grimaced at Tony's comment. "I just don't see us being friends. I don't think she likes me much anyway."

"Why? Because she made an innocent joke at your expense?" Ziva asked. "We all do that."

"I know, but it's different when you guys do it."

"You seemed plenty interested in her until she flirted with me," Tony pointed out. Tim wondered if his teammate was trying to be as annoying as possible. "Is that what it is? You're mad because she wasn't into you?"

"Just forget it," Tim said as he leaned back in his seat. "Just forget I even mentioned it."

"Whatever you say, McSore Loser."

Tim chose not to respond to the baited taunt.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, during a run to grab some coffee from the break room, Tim had another encounter with Greta. She was talking with Ducky, who had come up to grab a cup of tea. Both seemed to be in a jovial mood, making Tim think this may be a happier meeting than the one that morning.<p>

"Yes, I remember my Eton days. I was much younger then, of course, but I always enjoyed being in college, being able to learn as much as possible. I do consider myself a student of life, actually, as I never turn down the opportunity to learn more."

"That's quite a philosophical view," Greta said as she poured herself some coffee. "I think I consider myself a student of life as well. I know that being here is going to give me loads of opportunities to learn new things, especially if I hang around you. I understand that your stories are quite legendary."

Ducky beamed, obviously flattered to have someone who appreciated his loquacious nature. It was then that he noticed Tim, standing in the doorway awkwardly. "Oh, and Timothy, I'm sure, can relate. I don't think he has ever stopped learning."

Greta glanced over her shoulder at him, her cheerful demeanor becoming cool and snide as she saw who it was. "Yes, I'm sure," she said dismissively before turning back to Ducky. "I know during my time at Harvard I had such a hard time choosing my classes. So many wonderful opportunities to learn, how could I choose just one?"

"Yeah," Tim said, making an effort to join the conversation, "that's how I felt in my first few years at MIT. I –"

"In the end, though, I had to go with what would be most useful to my career plans," Greta said, rolling along as if Tim hadn't even spoken. "It's too bad, though, because I would love to have stayed another year or two, just going to classes, maybe even studying abroad."

Ducky nodded. "I am very grateful that I had the chance to travel during my studies. Paris, Madrid, Rome...it's amazing to see what else is out there and learn from other countries."

He glanced down at his watch. "Well, I suppose I've left Mr. Palmer down in autopsy long enough. I'm sure you have work to get done as well, so I'll leave you to it, Miss. Hirsch."

"Please, call me Greta," she said with a warm smile.

"Oh, yes, and you must call me Ducky, of course. All of my friends do."

"Very well, Ducky." She extended a hand to him, saying, "Until next time."

He shook it. "I look forward to it."

As Ducky walked past, Tim distinctly heard him say, "Such a charming young lady." It wasn't a statement he could agree with, but he was going to try his best.

"You know, I never got the chance to travel either," he said. "I mean, MIT worked me pretty hard."

"Are you always like this?"

Her question made him furrow his brow, not sure what she meant. "Pardon me?"

"You just have to let everyone know that you went to MIT, don't you?"

"Well, no I was just trying to relate to–"

"Because you're not that great just because you got into some egghead school."

"I never said–"

"Maybe if you stopped acting like you're the smartest person in the world, people would like you more. Though," she said throwing a sour look his way, "that's not likely."

Tim was dumbfounded, not certain where this vitriol was coming from. Had he done something to deserve it? Had he said something that had inadvertently offended her? He truly didn't know.

Before he could even begin to figure out a response, Greta pushed past him. A good amount of coffee sloshed over the top of her cup, landing on his shirt and dribbling down along his pants. She offered nothing more than a snide, "Oops," before disappearing around the corner.

Tim was left feeling more confused than ever.


End file.
